


baby, let's make history

by changingcolorsdaily



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: American History, American Revolution, F/F, F/M, Genderfluid Mollymauk, M/M, everyone is dating because I said so, liberal arts degree struggles, living history au, shamelessly projecting my history degree, the mighty nein - Freeform, vox machina - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-07 12:35:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16854070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/changingcolorsdaily/pseuds/changingcolorsdaily
Summary: Trostenwald is a small Revolutionary-Era town in Virginia that was an American army encampment and planning spot for Lafeyette and his troops during the Battle of Green Spring. It is now a living history town and museum, with a cast of new and old historians, theater nerds, and archivists that run the place. This is the story of the current staff, who have affectionately named themselves the Mighty Nein, and their experiences dealing with grumpy tourists, cantankerous board members, obnoxious summer campers, and more.





	1. Chapter 1

The beginning of summer camp season at the Trostenwald Living History Settlement and Museum was, objectively, always the most chaotic. Jester was squatting on the ground, her cotton costume frock for the summer already stained with paint, bunched around her. The “WELCOME, SUMMER CAMPERS!” sign was massive, stretching several yards wide and painted with obvious care in rainbow colors. Jester added some finishing touches to the last S, and then stood, twisting her skirt, trying not to get any more paint on her new uniform.

“Yasha!!” She yelled, “The sign’s done, come and hang it up!” She frantically waved at the last few letters with her paper fan to attempt to dry them a little more. 

Yasha appeared from around the corner of the visitor’s center, carrying a large ladder under one arm as if it weighed nothing. “Hey, Jes. Where do you want it, again?” 

“Just...up in the front somewhere, I don’t know, I have to get back to my lesson plans!” Jester waved in a vague direction at the top of the entrance doors, and then rushed off, grabbing her paints and basket as she went. 

Fjord was preparing for the onslaught of campers the only way he knew how, by checking and re-checking the safety railing on the docks. The property’s small replica of an American privateer ship was roped off from visitors, but Fjord still had a kid or two every year that figured out a way to slip through the bars and into the water. Someone chucked a life preserver at him as his back was turned towards the dock’s office. He turned to see Mollymauk grinning at him, dangling a life jacket from the ends of his fingers. 

“Make sure you stay safe, sailor,” he grinned, saluting Fjord in a grandiose manner fitting of the tour guide’s theatrical background. 

“Just trying to make sure we don’t have to fish any more of the little ones out of the river,” he said, straightening his simple sailor’s vest that sat over a tight-laced shirt. “Last year was hellish, and I don’t want to have any more parents yell at me for their kid coming home soaking wet.” 

“Oh, come on, only the dads yelled at you, you charmed every mom in sight last year, you scamp.” Molly winked. He was wearing his new suit today, dressed up even more than usual for the start of camp, probably. His curly hair was pulled back into a low traditional ponytail, and his ridiculous tricorn hat had made an appearance too, a single long purple feather poking out of the top.

“Caleb told me this was historically accurate,” Molly said, tipping his hat with a flourish. “I followed him around for the entire day yesterday asking him for trivia that I could tell the kids.” 

“You’re going to give that poor man a heart attack.” 

“Nonsense!” Molly placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. “I’m personally very invested in Mister Caleb’s heart, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize its safety.”

A loud “MOLLY!” made both of them turn around. Beau was standing near Yasha’s blacksmith’s shop, waving her arm so hard that it looked like it would fall off. Her captain’s jacket was draped over one arm. She never wore her full uniform unless tourists were actually on site, partly due to the heat, but mostly because she’d asked Gilmore to make her a sleeveless blouse and vest to wear underneath and wanted to show off her “super sick, I did a lot to make these look good, Fjord” arm muscles. Caduceus was standing next to her, waving at a much more relaxed speed than Beau. 

“It’s almost nine, Molly, time to get to our stations.”

Clay’s measured, deeper voice carried across the distance as Beau started forcing herself into her coat. 

“Get over here, asshole, and let the goddamn tourists in!”

“Always so pleasant in the morning, Beauregard,” Molly shouted back, tipping his hat again at Fjord as he headed back down the dock to meet their coworkers. 

Ten minutes passed as Molly first made his way to Beau and Caduceus, the former flipping him off as he said something unintelligible to her, and then parted from the group, heading for the entrance building. Jester was a blur of blue as she rushed past him to the museum, then back to the ticketing office and gift shop, and then back again, with Yasha trailing behind her, display tables and mannequins for the campers appearing in their wake. 

Fjord kept an eye on his pocket watch as it ticked to 9:00, and then to 9:05. Molly had brought the first tour of the day in, and was currently leading them through the small collection of restored buildings that made up the historic town of Trostenwald. The group was just leaving the blacksmith, meaning that they had another fifteen minutes to spend with Beau at the soldier’s encampment before coming to the docks. Fjord drained the rest of his canteen, regretting not bringing the water cooler out with him. It was only going to get warmer, he thought, he really needed to get around to that. Looking around to make sure no one noticed, he pulled his phone out of his vest pocket, trying to quickly text Jester and ask her to grab it before she brought the kids over. 

“Mr. Fjord! Texting on the job?” 

For the second time that day, Fjord jumped, turning to see who was speaking behind him. His face fell when he found that it was none other than Vex’ahlia de Rolo, head historian and manager of the property, leaning against the dock’s railing with a shit-eating grin on her face. 

“Dr. de Rolo, I’m so sorry- I- uh, needed to ask about the water cooler- for safety, you know, because, uh, well the kids…” he finished lamely. 

“Please, Fjord, it’s Vex,” she said, “And come on, you’re not in trouble, just don’t let the guests see, obviously. I was just coming down to make sure you got my email about the donors only event this week?”

Fjord nodded, internally grimacing at the amount of time he’d be spending on the property that Friday.

“Great! You’ll just be giving them the same short rides that you give the kids, around the harbor and back. Most of them won’t want to go, probably, the rich bastards on the board will probably be afraid of getting their costumes wet.” 

“Dr...de Rolo...Vex...your husband is on the board,” Fjord said. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but we’re used to the costume thing. Also,” she shrugged, laughing, “Our outfits will actually be historically accurate. I know for a fact that two of the women on the board are wearing _nineteenth century_ ballgowns.” She grimaced when saying “nineteenth century,” like it was a dirty word. 

“Anyway, will you be good with staying late to clean up? I know you’re working seven days a week this summer, I can let you leave early if you need to.” 

“No,” Fjord shrugged, “I could use the overtime pay. The fall term starts in three months and I need to save up as much as possible before it starts so I can actually have time to finish my dissertation and TA twice a week.” 

Fjord was a maritime history major at ECU, one of two PhD students on the staff. The other one, Caleb, the skinny redheaded kid from Germany who had somehow intrigued Molly, of all people, worked full time in the archives. Fjord had only seen him leave the museum three times, and had talked to him even less often. He had really lucked out getting this job, something close by and in his actual field, where he could spend some time on the water instead of reading about it constantly in climate-controlled rooms. The next semester would be rough, he knew, so he was pushing the limit of hours he could take at the settlement, foregoing his days off to make a little extra cash. 

Vex squeezed his shoulder, seeming a little apologetic. 

“I remember when I was getting my doctorate. I was on scholarship too, and it was rough as hell. But hey, if you need any advice, or want me to intimidate anyone on your faculty committee, just say the word.” She turned to leave. 

“But darling,” she called over her shoulder, “I could probably see about getting you an extra bonus for all your hard work. We wouldn’t have this sailing program if it wasn’t for you, and besides,” she winked, “I know a guy on the board. He’s pretty cool.” 

Dr. Vex’ahlia waved cheerily, and hopped off the dock onto the shore, heading back toward the museum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first foray into writing a full-fledged fic! Thanks so much for reading, and i'll try to update somewhat regularly. Comments and reviews are welcomed with open arms, I need all the help I can get. 
> 
> Every chapter, I'll do a featured character in the notes to flesh out some of their backstory! I'm actually doing research on this, because I'm a huge fucking nerd. For now, just know that everyone has some kind of master's degree save Caduceus, Molly, and Yasha, but they're working this job because golly gee it's hard to get a job in your field if you studied history. I work at a living history museum myself, so a lot of this is shamelessly going to be based on my experiences. No ragrets.
> 
> This chapter's featured character is Fjord! He is half-black, and a maritime history PhD candidate at East Carolina University (http://www.ecu.edu/cs-cas/maritime/). He works two TA jobs during the year for ungrateful-ass undergrads. His dissertation is about African-American involvement with the war as well as on merchant ships afterwards (check out http://maah.org/documents/BlackEntrepreneursexhibitguide.pdf and http://lestweforget.hamptonu.edu/page.cfm?uuid=9FEC4DB7-F45B-3410-1FFDCBD76122BBF3 for bits of that history!) He's one of those PhD candidates that is super well-informed about his specific field, but sucks as a TA in general history. ("Fjord, when was the Battle of the Bulge?" "The Battle of the _what_.")


	2. Chapter 2

“And on July 6, 1781, the last major land battle of the Virginia campaign, until Yorktown of course, would occur just three miles from Trostenwald in the swampy marshes of Green Spring!” Molly gestured towards Beau, who was standing with her shoulders squared, looking admittedly pretty impressive, even to him. She had her full captain’s uniform on now, period-accurate medals and brass-handled sword glinting in the sunlight. “Captain Beauregard will now explain the layout of the Marquis de Lafayette’s troops as they camped in the town prior to their ambush.” Behind the group of tourists now pulling out their phones to snap pictures of Beau, Molly shot finger guns at her, mouthing, _take it away_. 

Beau managed to keep from rolling her eyes, knowing the number of pictures people were taking that would eventually end up on Yelp or TripAdvisor, or their stupid-ass Facebook pages. She internally shuddered thinking of the terrible photographs somewhere out in the world of her caught off guard, or mid-sentence. Tourists automatically lumped her into the scenery of Trostenwald, and felt just as entitled to document it with their smartphones. Did Beau come to _their_ jobs and try to take pictures of them while they were working? 

Controlling the seething that happened at least once a day on her shift, Beau summoned up her patented customer-service smile. “Welcome, folks. If you’ll follow me, we’ll see the interior of Brigadier General “Mad” Anthony Wayne’s tent as he planned his strategies with his advisors.”

Molly waved, sticking their tongue out at her while the group’s back was turned. “Alright, everyone! After you head to the docks to meet our sailing expert, I’ll meet you at our next stop, which was the tavern and coffeeshop for the locals!” He made a sharp turn on his heel, and booked it to the small brick building, hoping that Clay had set the coffee pot to boil before he left. 

They shouldered open the heavy wooden door- it had been sticking more than usual that week- and made his way to the small kitchen, where they brewed the thick, strong coffee for the tourists to sample. Only the most dedicated tourists could finish a cup; Americans in the 1700s drank incredibly dark brews with a ridiculous amount of caffeine, and topped their drinks with chili and cinnamon. Molly, obviously, loved the stuff. He was the only one on the staff who drank it regularly, besides their boss’s husband, who would stop by now and then whenever he was on the property for a cup. He probably would be coming in some time that week, Molly thought, Mr. de Rolo always fired off his restored cannon for the summer camps. 

Thankfully, Caduceus had stopped by before heading to the gardens, so the pot was hissing with steam as Molly stepped behind the bar, switching the heat off to give it time to cool. Grabbing the espresso cups, Molly began laying out sets five to a table with quick, practiced motions. They pulled their phone out of their coat pocket, firing off a text to Yasha. 

_Coffee’s set out. When are the kids coming to your place?_

It wasn’t long before he received a text back, short and clipped as was Yasha’s style. 

_9:45._

He glanced at his phone. 9:30. Perfect. Taking a swig directly out of the coffee pot that was decidedly, not up to health codes, Molly grabbed the containers of chili powder and cinnamon and pushed them out onto the bar. They adjusted their hat in the mirror, and swept out of the kitchen’s back door. 

Jester was sitting on the front porch of the milliner’s shop, surrounded by a group of children. She was passing out straw hats, some with ribbons that circled around the crown and under the chin, holding the wide brims down, and some thinner, flatter sun hats very similar to Clay’s. 

“And _this_ is where they sold fabric, and made petticoats like mine, and made gloves, and shirts, and aprons, and-”

“MX. MOLLY!!” 

One of the smaller kids in the group leapt up from the porch, hat tipping back to show dark hair streaked with white near the temples. She was waving enthusiastically, tugging on the sleeve of the child next to them. 

“That’s the person I _told_ you about, they have the _coolest_ outfits and they can do _magic_ , and-”

“Molly!” Jester squealed, standing up, her skirts bouncing. “It’s so great that you’re here, you can show the kids your outfit!” 

Molly swept off his hat, bowing low with his foot extended and hand behind his back, a bow meant for only royalty or those of a much higher class. 

“Why of course, Miss Jester, anything for you and your friends.” He made his way up the steps, ruffling Whitney de Rolo’s hair as he passed. “I know you, Whitney, and hello, Samuel, lovely to see you back at camp this year, but won’t the rest of you introduce yourselves? My name is Mollymauk Tealeaf, Molly to my friends.”

The kids mobbed them, yelling out their names while simultaneously trying to grab any part of his coat. 

“I’m Chris, is your coat REAL?” “Where is your accent from?” “My name’s Hanna, can I wear your HAT?” “Mx. Molly! My birthday is on Friday!”

He laughed as he held his arms up, negotiating his way through the group to stand next to Jester. “One at a time, please. This is a coat worn by members of the gentry, it is a replica of one from 1780, made by our glorious tailor Gilmore…”

Yasha watched Molly and Jester from her post at the blacksmith’s building, leaning against the front door to turn her face up to the clouds passing the sun. The temperature outside was pushing ninety degrees, but the interior of the shop was scorching, and even she needed to take breaks now and then. She fiddled with the tools hanging from her belt, a gift from the previous blacksmith, Grog, who had hired her on sight one day when she had stopped by to bring Molly his lunch. It was a nice place to work, she thought, and her colorful coworkers were growing on her. Dr. Vex also was very accommodating with all the time off Yasha had asked for, something that her previous attempts at employment had not been as kind to offer. She looked up, seeing Molly and Jester beginning to round up the kids to bring them across the cobblestones to her shop. 

“Okayyy kids, we’re going to meet Yasha now, she’s _super_ strong and cool, but her shop is _really_ hot so we’re all going to drink some water first! Who needs to fill up their water bottles?”

Molly looked up to see his group of tourists heading to the docks with Beau, and waved at Fjord, gesturing in the crew’s makeshift sign language, _STALL THEM_ , before turning back to the children now crowding around the chipped yellow water cooler. 

“Molly, after this, it’s craft time, and then lunch, so can you watch them while I go eat?” 

“Of course,” he said, trying to form the kids into some semblance of a line, “Any chance I get to try and steal some Little Debbies is a chance that I will take.” 

“I would like a Little Debbie,” Yasha spoke up in her soft voice, her mouth barely seeming to move. Molly winked at her. 

“I got your back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's featured character is Jester! She's a Polish immigrant with a degree from William and Mary, and used to work for the Omohundro Institute of Early American History & Culture (https://oieahc.wm.edu/) She worked at Colonial Williamsburg, but got fired so she moved to Trostenwald Settlement. She's a tour guide like Molly, and the children’s program leader, which means she works on the education programs during the regular months of the year and runs summer camps for 7-12 year olds. The kids spend a lot of time debating whether she’s dating Fjord or Beau because kids get Into that shit (spoiler alert- it’s both). She also runs the millinery shop and knows way too much about crafting. She has convinced SO many tourists that the grounds are haunted.


End file.
